Endless Waltz
by Starrika
Summary: It's the 30th century and Crystal Tokyo never arrived. Now Hotaru must awaken the reincarnations of the senshi once more and convince them they have a greater destiny.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Wow, I hate Vista. I had no idea that my formatting for this story blew chunks until I got a review about it. Sorry!

Sailor Moon fic. What if the things had been a bit different? What if after Galaxia, the senshi had gone on to normal lives, that the great battle that would lead to Crystal Tokyo had never come? What if the senshi in the future were not their future selves, but reincarnations? Who else would be reincarnated?

Senshi/Shitennou romance, though it will be some time before getting there. At the turn of the 30th century, Hotaru faces the task of reawakening the senshi, something that goes a bit differently this time around. 

The dark haired woman would have blended in with the other university students, had one not looked at her closely. There was a haunted expression in her eyes and a few strands of gray at her temples. She looked like someone who had seen too much of the world – an expression that was jarring on someone who was still young.

She wore an Azabu-Juuban sweatshirt and ripped jeans, with a ghost of a smile whenever she looked at her clothes. Sitting in the back row, she was not taking notes on the lecture, but instead on the woman a few rows ahead of her.

_Oh, Ami, how you've changed_.

The woman being observed showed no sign that she knew she was being observed, nor a particular interest in the calculus lecture at hand. She was doodling in her notebook, elaborate designs of a Grecian style garden whose columns looked more than familiar to the woman observing her.

Rising from her seat before the lecture finished, the dark haired woman stole out of the hall so as not to be seen. Deciding that the weather would hold, she walked the blocks of Tokyo – so familiar to her at this point – back to her apartment building.

Once she was ensconced in the penthouse, she opened her laptop. Selecting a number from her keypad, she tapped impatiently on the spacebar as it rang.

On the sixth ring, familiar garnet eyes and forest hair greeted her.

"You were right, Setsuna-chan. She's not ready."

The garnet eyes held warmth and amusement. "Well, I do see everything. Generally, I _am_ right."

The dark haired woman sighed. "Yes, yes. I'll be leaving for New York as soon as I can get tickets."

"There's no hurry," Setsuna told her, looking in concern at the dark circles under her eyes. "We have time."

"I know. But I can't help feeling that even time is an advantage." With another sigh, she looked away from the screen. "I wish we didn't have to do this."

"It's the best way, Hotaru-chan. You agree that this is the way to go."

"Yes."

"Then I wish you luck." Setsuna paused. "Hotaru…you don't have to do this. I can take some time away."

"No. No, I want to." She paused in turn. "I just—they've changed. Things won't be the same."

Setsuna smiled that enigmatic smile that Hotaru had grown to hate over the past eight centuries. "They've changed. But the important things are still the same, Hotaru-chan."


	2. Chapter 2

It had been over a century since Hotaru had visited New York, but the city was much the same. True, there were differences in buildings and technology, but the attitude was just as she left it. After all the change, it was a comforting thing.

She ensconced herself in the Ritz, letting herself sink into the luxurious sheets and sleep soundly despite her fears. It left her feeling refreshed that evening, ready to face whatever would come.

Mishka Pavlova was easy to find -- her picture all over the American Ballet Company's posters. The same bright blue eyes and blonde hair. And, irony of ironies, a red bow in her hair for a production of The Nutcracker that was quickly approaching.

Hotaru slipped into rehearsal under the guise of a patron, her eyes following the blonde onstage. The dance was still rough, but Mishka moved fluidly. Once again, Hotaru was struck by how different the senshi were now.

It was disconcerting to watch someone who seemed so familiar and foreign at the same time. Leaving the theatre before the dancers finished, Hotaru blended into the shadows by the stage door. Not long after, the blonde exited, leaving Hotaru to trail after her as she made her way home.

They had almost reached the subway when Mishka was pulled into an alley. Hotaru quickened her pace as she heard a scream, almost knowing what she'd find.

A youma, of course, though it was pitiful compared to others she had eliminated. She removed her glaive, needing only one slash to decapitate it. The youma disintegrated before it even hit the floor.

With a flick of her wrist, Hotaru put the glaive back into her subspace pocket and detransformed with little fanfare. The blonde was looking at her with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open in such shock that it made Hotaru nervous.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

"What was that? Who are you? What did you do?" the blonde fired back rapidly. Her features had changed from shock to suspicion.

Hotaru sighed. "It's a long story. I actually would like to speak to you, though."

Mishka looked even more wary. "I don't think --"

"Not now, of course." Hotaru was trying to ease some of her suspicions. "I've got a room at the Ritz. I'll be there for a week or so. Come find me and I'll explain." Pulling out a sheet of paper, she scribbled down her room number and laptop extension. "Get home safe."

The blonde nodded dumbly and pocketed the slip of paper. Hotaru faded back into the shadows of the street and watched her leave.

She still wasn't sure that awakening Mishka was a good idea. No matter Setsuna's protests to the contrary, she didn't think the blonde was ready either.


	3. Chapter 3

It hadn't taken Mishka long to seek her out, showing up at Hotaru's suite the next afternoon with a surprise in tow.

A surprise for Hotaru, anyway. Setsuna was probably laughing her ass off.

For along with the petite blonde was a brunette amazon, her wavy hair pulled back into a familiar ponytail.

"I hope you don't mind me bringing a friend," said Mishka, her tone implying that there would be problems if Hotaru did object.

"Not at all," Hotaru said mildly. "Funny enough, I need to speak with her as well. You are Lita Makovova, correct?"

Both women looked surprised and suspicious. The brunette gave a terse nod, looking as if she'd like nothing better than to bolt out of the hotel.

Hotaru gave a wry smile. "Sorry, I'm going about this all wrong. Can I get you some refreshments? Please, have a seat."

Both women declined, seating themselves on the sofa across from Hotaru's chair. Hotaru put some tea and cookies on the table anyway, booting up her laptop as she settled herself on the overstuffed loveseat.

"You'll have to excuse me if I do not explain last night immediately, Miss Pavlova—"

"Please, call me Mishka."

"Mishka, then," Hotaru said with a slight smile. "I'm afraid there is some lengthy backstory before last night will make any sense."

She noticed Lita take a cookie, breaking it into miniscule pieces like Mako had used to do, and a wave of homesickness swept over Hotaru.

"You are familiar with the new technology in cloning, I hope?" she asked.

"Yes," Lita answered hesitantly, as Mishka nodded in agreement.

"Well, in a similar vein, there has been found that a certain subset of the population is able to regenerate, reincarnate, if you will, without laboratory assistance. Basically, they have lived before, and will live again, with the same genetic codes, and access to their past memories, in some cases, anyway," Hotaru began.

Lita interrupted. "Why haven't we heard about this on the news, then?"

Hotaru paused. "For two reasons. One, it is a very small subset, and we have no wish to be tested, poked, prodded, for some scientific answer that will never come. This can only be explained by magic, by faith. Two, this ability, if you will, is only a part of a larger identity, Revealing this incarnation could only lead us to disaster."

"When you say _we_…?"Mishka asked.

"Yes," Hotaru said bluntly. "I am one of these people. You two are as well. I've known you before…a long time ago," she added a bit wistfully.

There was a brief pause as the two women absorbed this information.

"I still don't understand. You speak of danger and I still don't understand what this has to do with that thing—"

"Youma," Hotaru corrected.

"Youma," Mishka repeated. "With that youma last night."

"Yes, that is the issue," Hotaru said quietly. Reaching for her laptop, she brought up a scan of a painting of Selenity's court in the Silver Millennium. "A long time ago, in a time of magic and prosperity, lived a queen on the moon. Her name was Selenity…"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Not sure where that helpful review I had about my formatting went – did lose it in the big hiccup? Anyway, I don't remember your name, but thank you again for pointing the formatting snag out to me!

When Hotaru finished relating the history of the Moon Kingdom and the last rise and fall of Serenity, Mishka and Lita were both sporting dazed looks on their faces. It was quite a bit of history to present, Hotaru realized.

"I have a question," Mishka said, looking more suspicious than confused. It was hard to reconcile her with the bubbly, blonde Aino Minako. Mishka Pavlova more serious, less trusting. Although it was always possible she was different around her friends, Hotaru realized.

Hotaru stopped musing and nodded. "Yes?"

"You said we would remember our past lives. Why don't we? How do we know you aren't trying to trick us?"

Lita was nodding emphatically, the cookie in her hands turning to dust. Hotaru paused, unsure.

"I don't know. Setsuna, Sailor Pluto, believes that once you transform, you will regain your past memories. To be frank, you're the first women I've contacted," Hotaru admitted. "And…you've changed greatly. I don't know what will happen when you henshin. Transform," she clarified.

Mishka still looked suspicious, but Lita appeared thoughtful. "We're different? How?" she asked. Hotaru had only related a basic story of their previous life in Tokyo, preferring to stick to facts.

It was Hotaru's turn to crumble a cookie without eating it. "Oh. Well, you loved to cook, Lita, although I know that hasn't changed," she said, referring to the brunnette's occupation as a pastry chef. "You were a bit boy-crazy, always comparing boys you dated to the previous. Not quite as boy-crazy as Minako," she added with a small smile, looking to Mishka. "Minako was always cheerful. You loved to sing. You wanted to be famous."

"That doesn't sound so different," Mishka admitted, the ghost of a smile around her lips. She had been serious the entire afternoon.

"Yes, and no," Hotaru said. "There are similarities, of course. You look…remarkably similar."

"Do you have any pictures?" Lita asked, leaning forward.

Hotaru moved to her bag that was sitting on the opposite side of the room, preferring a tangible copy over the files on her laptop. "I have pictures of all of you," she said softly, passing the pink volume covered in bunnies to the two girls.

She spent the next few minutes narrating pictures for the girls, telling them about high school activities and the different senshi.

"And…are they different, too?" Mishka asked, pausing to look at a picture of Usagi, fingers brushing lightly over the odangoes.

"Yes, some more than others," Hotaru admitted. "Ami still lives in Japan, but the rest of you are scattered. You've been brought up in different cultures, with different lives. Usagi, her name is Moon, now, funny enough," Hotaru said with a smile. "She is the same. Somehow, she is always the same."

Hotaru paused for a moment after her soft pronouncement to continue. "Ami and Rei are…very different," she said. "They aren't ready yet."

"And what makes us ready?" Lita countered.

Hotaru brushed the crumbs clinging to her fingers on her jeans. "Rei, her name is Rowan, she had a child four months ago. Ami's father died in a car accident three weeks ago. We think it unwise to awaken Moon until she has her senshi. And I do not know where Mamoru resides. Setsuna won't tell me," she added, her voice quiet.

"So, what are we supposed to do? Drop everything to follow you and protect some woman we don't even know?" Mishka asked, her voice hard. "I have a life."

Lita was nodding once again, although she seemed calmer than the blonde, Hotaru noted.

"No, I wouldn't ask that of you. It isn't my place," she replied. "However, with the rise in youma, I ask you take a henshin pen. To be safe. I will show you how to use them."

Setsuna said they were more similar than she thought, and Hotaru was betting on it. She wouldn't ask them to defend the city. She would give them the tools and hope that their natures would bear out. The Minako and Makoto she knew would never sit idly by when people were in danger.

They'd discuss moving once they were used to the idea of senshi. Once they regained their memories.

Mishka's face was still hard, but Lita had her hand out. "I want to learn," she said earnestly, looking at Mishka with imploring eyes.

Hotaru didn't know the history between the two, but after a moment, Mishka held out her hand as well. "I don't know why I believe you," she said quietly. "But I'll do it."

The next morning found them at an empty warehouse, courtesy of Setsuna, who had no problem making savvy investments, even if she wouldn't tell Hotaru the future. But debating the ethics of that sticky situation was something Hotaru had long given up on.

Instead, she surveyed the space Setsuna had purchased, pulling out her pen from subspace absentmindedly. Lita and Mishka were behind her, the two looking as if they weren't sure what they had gotten themselves into, although Hotaru hoped the wide-eyed distrust would disappear soon.

They didn't have time to reforge a millennia of bonding, no matter what Setsuna said.

Lita and Mishka both fumbled, still trying to extricate the pens from their subspace pockets, and Hotaru sighed. With any hope, the return of their memories would help. She had no desire to hold their hands.

They removed the pens, and Hotaru explained in detailed the henshin phrases and process. It was hard to describe, and she was glad she had thought about the explanation the night before. Otherwise, she probably would have mumbled something about a rush of power, and they would be looking at her as if she was even crazier than they thought.

She henshined quietly, comforting glaive in hand, as they looked at her expectantly, waiting for her instruction.

"Go ahead," Hotaru said. She was not a leader. She was not a teacher. She wasn't _good_ at this, and all she wanted was her friends, her comrades. Her senshi.

Now that they were in front of her, she was impatient.

Both girls spoke the henshin phrases quietly, and it looked as if Mishka was steeling herself for the whole situation to be a dream. Lita, Hotaru noted curiously, looked as if she wanted to believe. Lita was also the one to sink to her knees, crying, as soon as her transformation completed, entirely overwhelmed by what Hotaru hoped were memories.

Mishka, she noticed, stood straighter, chin up, even though it looked like there were unshed tears in her eyes. "You were right," she whispered. "I do remember."

Lita had risen, throwing her arms around Hotaru, squeezing tight. "Oh, Hotaru. You were right."

And if she pretended they weren't in a warehouse, in New York City and not Tokyo, Hotaru almost felt happy. Right now, though, her stomach was roiling. They remembered, but they weren't the same. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Mishka had unfurled Sailor Venus' chain and was playing with it absently, and as soon as Lita noticed, the brunette had moved towards her, reaching out a curious hand to touch.

"It's odd," she said. "I remember, but it's like the memory is foggy. Like a memory from your childhood. I remember this, but I have no recollection how it feels."

Mishka furled the chain and placed it back into her subspace pocket, still fumbling slightly. "I know what to say, what to do. I don't know if my body will," she agreed, still the serious woman Hotaru had met, rather than the bubbly Aino Minako.

And so Hotaru showed them how to do their first attack, and when Mishka whipped the Love-Me Chain around her waist for the first time with a smile, she felt relieved. Perhaps the happy girl she remembered _was_ still a part of her.

She went through all of their possible attacks, explaining their functions, strengths, and weaknesses, hoping that Mishka and Lita were focused. The youma were weak now, but Hotaru knew they could run into a stronger one at any time.

She had the scars to prove it.

She gave them disguise pens and compacts, and Mishka's grin at becoming an exact replica of a famous movie star helped dispel more of her unease. Mishka would want to protect the princess, once she met her. She hoped.

They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the city, trying to get to know each other in a normal way, pretending Hotaru hadn't researched the women already. And so Lita told her about the bakery where she worked, and how she had been adopted by Mishka's family when her parents died. And then Mishka told her how her parents had emigrated, when they were ten, to New York City, and how she started dancing not long after that. They spoke of their neighbor, Jason, and the white cat they'd adopted from the shelter, and the apartment they shared on the other side of town.

And Hotaru felt, almost, as if her friends had returned.

That evening, they hunted youma, and Hotaru was relieved to see their skills return in fits and starts. They were nowhere near the skill level of the senshi at their demise, but they could demolish a youma quick enough. Lita even seemed to enjoy it, although Mishka was tense and serious the entire night.

When she got on a transporter for Tokyo, Hotaru let out a sigh of relief as that famous _whoosh_ of transporting filled her ears. Lita and Mishka would be all right.

They would _all_ be all right.


	5. Chapter 5

Rowan sighed, leaning her head against the cool window pane, uncaring that she'd have to clean the smudge later. She had about twenty minutes before Evander woke up, and the headache she'd had since six this morning wasn't dissipating.

She'd had a few phone calls over the past couple days about the ad she'd placed in the paper, and today was the day she'd have to interview the scant few who seemed interested in gardening for the estate.

She pushed her hair away from her face, absently tying it back as she moved away from the window to make her bed. Evander was still sleeping quietly in his crib in the corner. She tugged the sheets and coverlet silently, savoring the last few minutes of quiet before the day would go to hell. And it was only seven.

It wasn't that she didn't love Evander. She did. But it was if he could tell how disturbed she was, and he just wouldn't stop _crying_.

She needed a gardener who could help with fixing the house. Desperately. The sooner the place was fixed up, the sooner she could open it as a bed and breakfast and begin paying off the debt Ace had left her in.

_Ace_.

Evander's cries cut off that train of thought before it became too painful, and Rowan picked him up, whispering consolations as she tried to dig out a fresh diaper from the bottom of the changing table.

Her routine was automatic at this point. Feed Evander, maybe eat herself if she felt hungry, which wasn't often, attempt to keep up with the housework and the articles she was writing for the magazine, and going over her budget with a hawk's eye, looking for places she could make more cuts. It seemed like she was spinning her wheels, with no real progress.

She put a piece of toast in the toaster, shifting Evander to her other arm, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead, which elicited a smile and gurgle. He was being good today, and Rowan closed her eyes briefly in relief, despite the pounding in her head that remained.

There was a storm coming, she could tell.

The sound of toast popping out of the toaster jolted her, and Rowan moved to grab the toast, sticking it in her mouth so she could free her hand to get a glass from the cabinet to fill with water. Evander, though, had other ideas, and started batting the piece with a laugh.

She grabbed the toast just in time, smiling. "You know that isn't a toy," she told him seriously, taking a bite.

She hoped his good mood would hold. She moved to the room that doubled as an office and playroom for Evander – she'd have to rearrange soon, once she got closer to opening the bed and breakfast. Putting him down in his pen, she placed a few of his toys in with him and turned on the expansive mobile she'd hung from the ceiling.

The familiar music was soothing, even to Rowan, and she sat down to organize the bills and draft letters to the credit companies that kept contacting her. While she was foolish enough to co-sign loans with Ace, most of his debt she wasn't responsible for. No matter what the bastard's mother was telling the companies.

She moved to the article she was working on. She had a deadline to meet, and if she didn't finish before the afternoon interviews, she'd be another day late. Her editor, Chad, was more than happy to let her slide on deadlines because of her experience, but she hated to do it. It just seemed irresponsible.

And a bit cruel. She suspected Chad fancied her, and she wouldn't take advantage of him like that.

She only got a paragraph written before Evander became restless, and Rowan knew if she didn't entertain him for a bit, he'd start crying. He was a sensitive baby, becoming scared whenever he was far from his mother for too long, and Rowan chafed a bit.

Evander had been an accident.

A mishap at transport station security had affected her implant, and before she knew it, she was swelling up like a balloon. She hadn't even known if she'd wanted kids. Ace had seemed happy, at first, but as she started to show, he started picking fights.

And then one day he just left, leaving Rowan with a mass of debt he'd hidden from her and a due date looming a month and a half away. Just like every other man. She'd been wrong to trust him. Foolish. It wasn't a mistake she'd make again.

She couldn't help but hate herself a little bit for it, even though the logical part of her knew that wasn't fair.

She didn't regret Evander though, except on the days when he wouldn't stop crying and nothing would go right. She picked him up with a sigh, wondering if the overwhelmed feeling would ever pass. He needed changed again, so she went back upstairs, unsurprised to see that time had slipped away from her. It was going to be one of _those_ days, despite Evander's rare mood.

The first two interviews were perfunctory, and Rowan could tell that the men wouldn't be a good fit with her. If that was because she wasn't feeling very generous to the males of the species, save her son, well, she wasn't admitting it.

The third interview was a woman who was highly qualified, but spent too much time cooing at Evander that it was a distraction. Rowan wanted someone who could work inside the house, too, and if the baby was going to be a distraction, then it wasn't going to work. She wanted the estate running _yesterday_.

And then she could get the debt paid off, and maybe hire some more help, and have someone to take care of Evander when she was working so she wouldn't feel like the worst mother in the world when she felt like screaming when he cried.

The fourth interview was late, and a man, Rowan knew from the telephone call, which was two strikes against him. By the time he rang the bell, it was ten minutes past, and the third strike was his shoulder-length, wavy auburn hair and brown eyes.

Pulling Evander closer, she moved to shut the door, eyeing him distrustfully.

One word stopped her.

"Mars?" he said softly. The look on his face seemed as if he were stunned.

"I know you're not Edward Draper," she said shortly, willing to give him five seconds before she called the police, if only because of the look on his face.

And the title he used, though she'd never admit it.

"I am. Ned, really. I'm – I'm not that person, Mars. Ms. Archer," he corrected. "Not anymore."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and Rowan's eyes narrowed. "I'm not that person either."

"I know. I just – hell, do you know how long I thought I was going crazy?"

She shifted Evander slightly, and later she would wonder why the baby was being so quiet. "I know."

There was an awkward pause, and Rowan didn't want to invite him in.

"I can't believe you have a kid," Ned said, looking at Evander's dark hair and dark eyes that were blinking at him seriously.

"It's not his," she replied quickly, guessing what he was thinking. Her voice was brittle and bitter.

"I guess not," he said, smiling. "Judging by the reception I got."

"I don't want to give you the job," Rowan said, bluntly.

He looked disappointed. "I know. But, please? I need this job."

"Have you worked with plants before?" she countered. "Done home repair?"

His hands were back in his pockets, shoulders up defensively. "Well, no."

"You're not getting the job," Rowan replied.

"Look, I don't need the money. I need to be here. You should know that," Ned replied, relying on the figment of memory of a woman, a warrior, of times before.

She slumped against the frame of the door, shifting Evander. "I know," she said softly, defeated. "I hoped I was just having odd dreams."

Evander took the moment to start babbling unintelligibly, reaching out to Ned, who took a step back with a terrified look on his face. There was a ghost of humor on Rowan's face at his terror. "He wants you to hold him," she informed Ned.

It was hard to call him that, when all she wanted to do was call him Nephrite and summon some otherworldly power that could kill him. She thought, hoped, she was crazy.

It was impossible for two strangers to be the same type of crazy, right?

She wasn't even going to think about her grandfather calling her fire child when she was young.

Rowan stepped back to open the door wider, allowing Ned to come in at the first clap of thunder from the storm rolling in. "He won't bite. Well, hard, anyway," she added.

He stepped into the front hall, shaking his head strongly. "Oh, no. I'll drop him. I don't like kids," he protested. "My sister's kid vomited all over my shoes the last time I was there," he muttered.

Rowan noted his shoes _were_ very nice – she hoped he had more suitable shoes for working outdoors. "If you want the job, get used to the kid," she said firmly, transferring him to his hands.

Ned held the baby out away from his body as if Evander would projectile vomit at any moment. The baby just smiled and babbled some more.

"His name's Evander," she supplied.

"He looks like you," Ned said, noting the dark tufts of hair and stubborn chin.

"He's got his father's nose," Rowan replied, leading the way into the kitchen. She interviewed everyone else in a more formal part of the house, but she felt more comfortable in the kitchen.

"Is he-?"

"He's not in the picture," she said shortly, and the subject was dropped. "Would you like some tea?" she asked, gesturing for him to take a seat at the battered wood table.

"No, thank you."

He relaxed a bit with Evander, letting him rest on his hip, although Ned was still eyeing the baby distrustfully. Rowan noticed that Evander seemed totally content in Ned's presence. He was a good judge of character – he hated Ace's mother – so she was willing to discuss the job.

She wasn't going to give it to him without an interview, no matter what the dreams foretold. She wasn't that foolish. At least, anymore.

"I'm trying to fix up the grounds and the house, which the east wing is shot, by the way, to make this a bed and breakfast. I'm in a pile of debt and I can't pay you much," she said bluntly, trying to pour herself a tea without turning her back to him. The rain had started to fall on the roof, and Rowan hoped it wasn't leaking into the third floor again.

She could tell he noticed her maneuvering, because he was trying not to smile. "That's fine. I'm better at repairs than gardening, not that I've done much of either, but I've got all winter to figure out what you want me to do with the garden. Right now all I really need to do is rake leaves, right?" he said with a shrug.

Rowan was about to snap at him, this was her _life_, when Evander let out a strong burp.

Ned was looking at the baby as if he had sprouted horns. "Dear god. And it _reeks_, too."

It was Rowan's turn to shrug. "Get used to it. If you're not doing anything in the house, I'll make you child mind," she replied.

"Gee, thanks," he said dryly.

There was a pause, and he looked at her seriously. "I know it doesn't mean anything, but I'm sorry."

Rowan stiffened. "When it's not an act you committed, you can't be sorry for it."

"But you can still blame and distrust me for it? Is that how it works?" Ned returned.

"It isn't that simple, and you know it. You were _evil_. Twice."

His lips twitched. "You do realize how funny that sounds, right?"

It took a bit of self-control to keep a small smile from her face, but Rowan managed it. "It's still true."

Ned sobered. "I know."

He shifted Evander on his lap again, letting the baby play with the fingers on his hand. There was another long pause before he continued. "I think things are different this time. How many times were we reborn without incident? Why did I choose to answer a gardener advert when I don't garden? Isn't the fact that I'm here, on your side, something?"

Rowan looked into her tea, both hands gripping the cup. "I don't know. I'm scared," she admitted quietly.

"Me, too," Ned replied.

She ended up hiring him, with reservations, and even if she didn't trust him entirely, it was almost a relief to have him there. Perhaps fated. She didn't know why she was having the dreams, didn't know why she would catch herself remembering a life, a man, from a millennia ago. But with him there, she wasn't alone.

They could be haunted by the past together.


	6. Chapter 6

Hotaru sighed and left the coffee shop in which she'd spent the last hour. The book she had clutched in her hand was unread, save for a few short sentences. She'd been watching Ami again.

She felt guilty, wanting to disturb the other woman's life. She also felt guilty for covertly watching her so often. It was simply that Hotaru was lonely – not that she'd ever state so out loud. Aside from Chibiusa, she had always been closest to Ami.

Hotaru knew that the senshi were different this time around. Even with their memories returned, Mishka and Lita were not the Mina-chan and Mako-chan of before. With Ami, Hotaru feared she would be even more different from her previous personality and Mishka and Lita were. This new Ami was sullen, and while smart, she didn't apply herself. She seemed rebellious and angry – and the books she read now were literature and art, rather than the textbooks of before. She was also a talented hacker, although Hotaru was disappointed to find she spent most of her time playing pranks rather than gathering intelligence.

She'd felt kinship with Ami, before. The soft-spoken girl had become a close confidant of hers – able to understand Hotaru's dark thoughts in a way that Chibiusa had not. She knew of Hotaru's desire to heal others, and encouraged her without trying to shelter her. She was like an older sister to Hotaru, and she treasured her time spent with Ami. While she had loved Haruka and Michiru, she felt like Ami had truly understood her.

It was a selfish fear, Hotaru knew, but she worried that this Ami wouldn't be her friend. She had lived far too many centuries, but Hotaru knew she was still stunted. She had the emotions and worries of a teenage girl, and despite her years, she had limited social skills or experience. Unlike the other senshi, save Pluto, she had not been through the cycle of death and rebirth so many times over.

She had been stuck, unaging at twenty, save for a few streaks of white at her temples. With only Pluto for company, she had to navigate changing technology and a changing world. She'd watched the senshi live and die ten times over before Pluto had declared they needed to awaken again.

With a sigh, Hotaru made her way down the few city blocks which separated the coffee shop from Setsuna's apartment. She entered the visitor's code, then pressed her palm for the door to record her identity. She rode the elevator in silence to the 30th floor, making no effort to discuss the weather, as the other occupants of the car did.

She let herself in to Setsuna's place feeling tired and out of sorts. "I don't think she'll ever be ready. She's not Ami," she said as a greeting.

Setsuna looked up from her work. She was seated at a table in her sitting area, by the window overlooking the city. Since she wasn't in her lab, Hotaru didn't feel bad at disturbing her. If it had been important, she wouldn't have been out in the sitting room.

"She _is_ Ami," Setsuna corrected gently. "Her heart, her soul, it is the same. It is her life that is different, no?"

Hotaru shook her head. "It's hard. I want them to be who they were before, but I know that will never happen. Even with their memories, they will be different. It's not just different lives, I don't think."

"You will see. It may take time, and some things will always be different, but once they are all awakened and together again, things will be more familiar than not. It will just take time – time we _have_, this time around.

Hotaru sighed. "I still don't feel that way. We encounter more youma day after day. They are weak, yes, but for how long? How long can Uranus and Neptune can hold them off, all by themselves? How long until they cannot control the flow and it goes from a trickle to a deluge?"

If Hotaru still refused to address Uranus and Neptune by their new reincarnations' names, Setsuna did not mention it. Hotaru's disappointment in finding their new forms so changed had been profound. Neither mentioned the other Outer Senshi much, unless it was for senshi business.

Hotaru didn't even want to think about the people her former parents had become. Despite Setsuna's protests about their _heart_, Hotaru knew they were _nothing_ like Michiru and Haruka.


End file.
